


If Love Is What You're After

by sophia_sol



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pining, Romance, intimacy issues, physical affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-24
Updated: 2010-11-24
Packaged: 2017-10-13 08:38:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/135302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophia_sol/pseuds/sophia_sol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur's never been any good at this business of liking people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Love Is What You're After

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the ever-wonderful sentientcitizen for betaing!

After the inception job they are filthy rich and free to do whatever they want. Arthur just wants to keep working. But Cobb has abandoned him for a life of blissful parenthood, and this makes things difficult.

In the end it is Ariadne who makes it possible. "Screw it," she says. "I'm not giving this up when I only just discovered it." And then she proceeds to do a scary amount of research, talking to people, and to people who know people, and to people who really don't know anything at all except for some arcane yet useful bit of knowledge about dreams or heists or cons or drugs or other things entirely, and sometimes even Arthur is hard-pressed to see the relevance.

She informs Arthur that she _really_ didn't like having to do the Fischer job with a less than encyclopedic understanding of the way things worked. Having to depend on other people to feed her knowledge on their own time was uncomfortable and restrictive and dangerous and she wants to make sure that it never happens again.

In shockingly little time Ariadne has smoothly stepped into the place that Cobb abandoned, knowing more, Arthur suspects, than Cobb ever did. Arthur trusts her enough to follow her anywhere.

She tells him she's keeping Eames. "Why do this work unless you know you've got the best possible team?" she says. "And I can totally afford it now."

"He is the best," Arthur admits, and doesn't say he's been admiring Eames for years. "Don't tell him I said that."

Ariadne also hires Yusuf to be a regular part of the team. They don't absolutely need him, not for the more typical mindheists, but it's part of her theory of command: only the best.

Saito, Ariadne can't afford. Arthur pretends not to notice how annoyed Ariadne is that she can't keep him around. But he's a businessman, not a career criminal, and he has more money than God. No matter how much potential Ariadne sees in him, she has to let him go. But Arthur bets she's not going to give up on him. Somehow she'll convince him to come back into the world of dreams, he knows. Ariadne isn't the sort to sit passively if she doesn't get what she wants.

\-----

Their first job under Ariadne's aegis is a straightforward one; Ariadne wants to make sure she has her feet under her before she gets too daring. There is a company, and there is a rival company, and there is the need to extract design plans from the mind of one company's CEO to give to the other. The details beyond that are boring, meaningless, undifferentiable from dozens of other jobs Arthur's done since he debuted in the field of mindheist. Ariadne, Arthur, Yusuf, and Eames all perform admirably, dealing easily with the small inevitable snags in the plan, and they wake up in the hotel room with exhilaration on their faces, sheer joy at what they know they're capable of if they choose.

Adrenaline still flooding his body as the four of them walk serenely and unnoticed out of the hotel, Arthur glances at Eames. Eames is already looking at him, an expression of satisfaction, or maybe pleasure, on his face. "What," Arthur says, "am I just that fascinating?"

Eames grins. "Always," he says, and Arthur reminds himself that Eames finds everybody fascinating, because it's this insatiable curiosity about people that makes him such a good forger. That and the way he seems to genuinely _like_ people. But that's just another aspect of the fascination, really: Eames likes the foibles, the quirks, all the uniquenesses that he can ferret out. Even if the quirks are astoundingly petty or annoying or even vicious -- Eames likes them because he could find them, understand them.

Arthur, when he likes people, goes about it rather differently.

He likes Ariadne because she's intelligent and imaginative and knows how to put that to damn good use. He likes Yusuf because he's willing to do whatever it takes to get something done right, and clever enough that "whatever it takes" is never unreasonable. He likes Eames because he is able to casually complete challenging tasks without seeming to need to think about it.

Well. He likes Eames because of his smile, because of his easy banter, because of the way he calls him "darling" in unguarded moments. He likes Eames because he's _Eames_.

He's never been any good at this, this business of liking people. He can be friendly, no problem. But anything deeper... Arthur can't. Words, actions, anything; that kiss with Ariadne was only safe because it was meaningless.

Eames will never be safe.

In all the years Arthur has known him, their lives coming briefly together for this job or that one before separating again for months, Arthur has never touched him except when the job demanded it. He confines himself to looking, to bantering, and to flinching or going awkwardly stiff any time Eames happens to touch him.

Eames notices, of course, and these days before he touches Arthur he pauses for a moment, being the gentleman for once, allowing Arthur time to prepare himself. Arthur hates it, and hates that it's necessary, even though he knows that Eames probably just finds Arthur's thing about touching a charming quirk, on par with, say, disliking peanut butter or having a tendency to whistle tunelessly while thinking.

\-----

Their next job goes less smoothly. "Look out!" Arthur shouts, as he yanks Eames away from the aim of the gun. They end up crouched behind the front counter in the hotel lobby, and damn, they'll have to get the security tapes once this is all over.

"Thanks, darling," Eames says with a quick smile, and then he's all business, taking the guards out with precision while Arthur takes deep, shaky breaths and ties cloth torn from the bottom of his shirt around his bleeding leg.

When they finally make it out, Yusuf already has the security tape poking out of his pocket. Arthur is happy to let out a sigh of relief and collapse into the van, and let Ariadne drive them away.

\-----

The doctor tells Arthur to stay off his leg while it's healing, so Arthur is left twiddling his thumbs in their home base (not a sketchy abandoned warehouse anymore, but a respectable-looking house that nobody would look twice at: Ariadne has _opinions_ ) while the others work the next job, a local one. Well -- twiddling his thumbs is perhaps overstating the matter. Arthur did his part in the research and the planning, but now that the rest of the team is out finishing the job he feels useless.

He should be with them, protecting them, helping them. He has faith in their skills, yes, but that doesn't mean they don't still need him.

He throws himself out of his chair to pace the room, but at the last moment remembers himself, and with a groan sinks back into his seat. Fucking crutches. How's he supposed to get rid of this restless energy?

He ends up back on one of the laptops, going through the plan for what feels like the millionth time. It's a sound plan, provided there aren't any unexpected surprises. Arthur did his best to anticipate all the variables, but that's no guarantee he's thought of everything. Isn't the last job proof of that? They should have easily had half an hour to spare, but Arthur's current state shows just how wrong they'd been.

Determinedly, Arthur closes the laptop. Going over the plans won't help. There's nothing he can do but sit and wait.

He slumps in the chair, rests his arms on the desk, rests his head on his arms. His fingers tap a restless pattern, and he counts it: one-two-three-four, five-six-seven-eight, nine-ten-eleven-twelve. Tiring of it, he switches to a time signature in threes, then tries a syncopated rhythm, then a different one, and then gives up and goes to a simple pattern: One. One. One. One. One.

He's reached "one" when he hears the sound of a key in the lock. Within moments he's vertical and grabbing his crutches, and then he goes bounding down the stairs as quickly as he can. They're back, they're safe, it all went well, they're --

\-- it's a false alarm.

He misheard. There's nobody at the door, and there's nobody on the street when he goes out on the porch and looks all around. The van is still gone, and his team is still gone. He collapses onto the porch swing, heart pounding, and leans back. He can't take it. All this waiting around is far more stressful than actually being in the field. He's never getting injured again, if he can help it, because this is torture, plain and simple. No -- he's been tortured before, and this is worse.

Arthur's eyes twitch towards the road of their own accord each time he hears the sound of a vehicle, even if it's a manifestly different sound than the familiar grumbling of the van. He forces his eyes closed, doesn't let himself look, because looking won't help.

Eventually, he falls asleep.

He startles awake at the cheery sound of Yusuf''s voice: "Wake up, it's time for celebration!" Blinking, bleary-eyed, into the sun, Arthur resists the temptation to rub his eyes and yawn. He doesn't like showing vulnerability.

"Oh, good," he says instead, and ignores the way that the "good" comes out a bit longer and more yawn-like than he intended. "Glad to hear it went well."

"Better than well," Eames says gleefully. "You should have been there. It was _brilliant_."

Arthur glares. "Thank you, Eames, I would have been there if I could."

"Oh, stop being so grumpy," says Ariadne. "Up! Up!"

And then he is on his feet and Eames is pressing his crutches into his hands, and as Eames lets go a finger accidentally brushes Arthur's arm, and Arthur -- Arthur is too fuzzy-minded from sleep to flinch. Eames freezes, and gives him a long and considering look that his brain is not yet up to comprehending.

But then they are all tumbling in the door and soon there is alcohol in everybody's hands, and any hope at coherent thought flees. Arthur thinks no more of it.

\-----

Arthur's leg is well enough to run on when it's finally time to implement the plans for their next job, for which he is ridiculously grateful.

For this job they have to fly out to Toronto, and Arthur ends up sharing a hotel room with Eames. There's some convention at the hotel, and most of the rooms have been taken over by rowdy people wearing everything from kilts to superhero spandex, and there's so many of them that getting separate rooms for all four team members is an impossibility.

Arthur looks forward to sleeping off the time difference once they're finally directed to their rooms, and methodically strips out of his suit to change into sleep-wear. On the other side of the room, Eames does the same thing. Arthur carefully doesn't look.

He sets the alarm on his phone, and flops down on one of the beds. "Night, Eames," he says. He's out in moments.

When his alarm goes early the next morning, Arthur blinks his eyes open slowly, and then flails around for his cellphone so he can turn off the infernal beeping. It stops, apparently on its own, before he can find it -- and then it is pressed into his hand, with a light brush of fingers across his wrist, and he looks up, startled, to see Eames.

"Up you get, darling," Eames says, and so, a little dazed, he does.

They complete the job with precision, and end up exhausted. They've been going nearly two days without sleep -- unless you count the time spent with the PASIV device, which Arthur doesn't -- so on the plane home Arthur naps.

He's woken on arrival by the soft touch of a hand on his shoulder, a finger straying as if by accident to caress his neck. When Arthur convinces his eyes to actually open, it turns out to be Eames.

Huh.

Arthur follows the others out of the plane, but his mind is completely elsewhere. Eames. Touching him. Twice now, unnecessarily and without warning, and apparently instigated by being asleep in Eames' presence. What...?

And then he remembers: that interminable day spent waiting for his team to come home, sleeping on the porch, and the look on Eames' face when he'd touched Arthur accidentally.

Eames is doing this on _purpose_.

The bastard.

\-----

Several jobs later, Arthur feels a little like he's going mad. It _keeps on happening_. Every time Arthur is asleep in Eames' presence, which he's discovering happens surprisingly often, upon waking Eames always -- always -- finds some excuse to touch him. And the worst part is that Arthur is coming to expect it, even enjoy it. He keeps on catching himself planning ways to be asleep in Eames' presence more often. Not acceptable.

But he can't stop himself. It's as if, now that it's begun, he's become addicted to the feel of Eames' skin, hungering for every small touch he can get.

Nothing else changes. Arthur still doesn't touch Eames except when necessary. Eames at all other times still gives Arthur that considerate moment each time he has to touch him. Arthur still needs that moment to keep himself from freezing or flinching.

The only difference is that now he _wants_ it to change. He wants Eames to touch him all the time, and he wants to be able to be okay with that. And he wants to touch Eames in return, touch him all over, run his hands down Eames' chest and cradle his head and hold his hand and hug him close and kiss his neck and -- he finally admits to himself -- maybe even do other things.

But Eames doesn't want that, Arthur knows. At least, he doesn't think Eames wants that. Eames flirts with him, but Eames flirts with everyone. And this touching thing is -- weird, yes, but Arthur's pretty sure it's nothing but Eames being pleased he's figured out one more thing about Arthur.

So if Arthur often stares at Eames for a little longer than necessary, or if he finds himself leaning into those brief touches he gets when newly woken, he tells himself he's just being weak.

\-----

Arthur wanders into the meeting room one day to find Saito sitting at one of the desks, talking serenely with Ariadne. Absentmindedly Arthur puts his hand in his pocket to touch the die. He's impressed: he thought it would take Ariadne another year at least to convince Saito to join them. He really needs to just always assume Ariadne can do whatever she wants to, because apparently she _can_.

"Hey, Arthur," Ariadne says, when she notices him in the room. "I'm briefing Saito on our plans so far. Care to help me?"

So Arthur pulls up another chair, takes a look at the files spread out over the desk, and says, "I'd be happy to."

They're nearly through everything -- it's taken longer than Arthur expected, because Saito keeps pausing them to ask remarkably insightful questions -- when Yusuf wanders in too. "Congratulations, Ariadne," he says, and grins. "Glad to have you here, Saito."

"I am happy to be here," Saito says, and his smile is a little bit dangerous. Arthur is glad he's on their side.

He continues to be glad all the way through the job, where Saito proves himself indispensable, and when it's over, he says so to Saito.

"Thank you," he says, his smile just the same as before.

\-----

When Arthur wakes up the morning after the completed job, it's to see Eames sitting on the side of his bed, a whole arm's-length away. Arthur makes a tiny inarticulate sound -- why hasn't Eames _touched_ him yet? There's supposed to be touching! -- and sees Eames breathe in sharply.

Then Eames' hand is riffling through Arthur's hair, and when Arthur looks up at him, the expression on his face is just so openly _wanting_ that all Arthur can do is make himself breathe, and let out a single word: "Yes."

They almost don't make it to the airport in time.

\-----

After that, they have sex embarrassingly often. Several jobs pass in a blur, Arthur knowing he's doing a perfectly competent job but unable to care about the details enough to remember them longer than necessary. What matters is the way that he can make Eames fall apart when they're in bed together, skin touching skin all over, and he can do this as often as he wants.

Eames is his.

Or -- Arthur thinks Eames is his, wants him to be. They haven't exactly talked about this. Yes, they have sex all the time, and Eames never seems to tire of him. Eames desires him, that's clear.

But is that all it is? Physical desire, physical release; a mutual need for human contact and orgasms? Arthur's afraid to ask.

"Eames, are we just fuckbuddies?" That's not the sort of question that he could just say out loud. But it worries at him, gnaws at his thoughts, makes him pensive and withdrawn.

If only he could -- _talk_ about this stuff. Bring it up, casually. "Eames, I think we should be exclusive." "Eames, I like you a lot." "Eames, are we dating?" Any of those would be perfectly reasonable things to say.

Arthur obsesses.

Slowly, though, Arthur realizes that these fears are unnecessary, that things _have_ changed, in more ways than just the sex. Eames doesn't flirt with other people anymore -- or rather, when he does, it's with a wink and a grin at Arthur, a promise for later.

And Eames touches him all the time.

Arthur can't believe it took him this long to notice. Eames drapes himself all over Arthur when they're in bed together, but that's only to be expected. What's more astonishing is the way that he does it when they're out during the day, when they're working side by side at a desk, when they go on errands, when they take time to relax at a movie or catch dinner out somewhere.

Eames touches him all the time and Arthur never even realized that Eames no longer needs to give him that moment to prepare himself, that Arthur has accepted Eames as so much a part of himself that casual contact isn't something to be feared any more. And each time Eames touches him, there is a look of boundless affection on his face

With this evidence Arthur is forced to put his fears at rest. They are together, and Eames is happy, which means Arthur should just surrender himself to happiness and relax.

\-----

This is ridiculous, Arthur tells himself. He's in a blissful relationship with an openly affectionate man, and he's not even able to do a simple thing like say "I love you." He can't so much as initiate a hug, for god's sake. It's a hopeless situation all around. He doesn't know how Eames puts up with him.

Arthur groans and puts his face in his hands. Of course, that's when Eames has to come round the corner and stick his head into the room. Perfect timing.

"What's up?" Eames asks, looking concerned, and with a concerted effort Arthur looks at him and says, unconvincingly, "Nothing."

"Bullshit," says Eames, and he comes in the door and sits down on Arthur's desk.

"No, really, I'm fine," Arthur says.

Eames gives him a look. "I won't pry if you don't want me to, darling, you know that, but you could at least admit _when_ something's wrong, even if you can't say what."

"Nothing's wrong. Can't you just leave it alone?" Arthur's words come out sharper than he intended them, and when he sees Eames look away, he wishes he could take them back.

But Eames just says, "Right, then," and gets off Arthur's desk. In moments he's back out the door, and Arthur slumps in his chair.

"Fuck."

\-----

" _Please_ keep up," says Ariadne. "Or do you need me to make you a powerpoint presentation?"

"What? No," protests Arthur. "You're making perfect sense. Keep going."

"That might be believable if you could keep your eyes open for more than thirty seconds," says Eames.

Arthur glares. "I haven't been sleeping well lately," he says with dignity. "That doesn't mean I'm incapacitated."

"I know," Eames says, quietly, then falls silent. Arthur is silent too. They both ignore the looks from Yusuf and Saito.

Ariadne clears her throat. "Right!" she says. "Continuing! According to Yusuf, this new compound will allow for a less jarring return to the waking state..."

Arthur's mind drifts again.

When the meeting is over, Arthur stalks out of the room without looking back. He doesn't turn when he hears Eames hurrying behind him to catch up.

"Darling," Eames says.

Arthur keeps walking. "What, Eames?"

"Arthur," Eames says, and catches him by the shoulder.

Arthur flinches.

They both stop, instantly, in the middle of the hallway. They stand frozen, staring at each other for a long moment, and then Eames looks away.

"No, wait -- " Arthur says, but doesn't know where to go from there. "I -- you --"

"Never mind," says Eames. He stands there for a moment longer, eyes far away, and then he wheels on his toes and hurries the other way down the hall, away from Arthur.

"No," Arthur says again, futilely, and stares down the now-empty hallway.

\-----

Their next job could be generously termed "awkward". Eames doesn't touch Arthur a single time, and their usual banter is pared down to bitter sniping. The others just stay out of their way as much as possible.

It's frankly a miracle they get through the job successfully.

Arthur can see the worry on Ariadne's face growing as the rift between Eames and Arthur fails to mend, and can't help but feel guilty. Ariadne deserves better than this, deserves a team that's capable of actually working together, instead of just pulling her down.

But what can he do? Maybe if he'd succeeded in voicing his concerns to Eames earlier ("Hi, you already knew I'm an emotional fuck-up, here's all the ways how, and I hope you never expect to hear me say I love you"), things could have turned out all right. But it's too late now. That fiasco in the hallway means Eames thinks that Arthur doesn't want him, doesn't trust him anymore, and Arthur simply cannot gather the words to explain when he can hardly explain it to himself.

Then Yusuf corners him. "Look," he says. "I don't know what happened between you and Eames, and it's not my business. But if you two don't resolve your issues, I don't think we'll all be able to work together as a team much longer. Think about it." And then without leaving Arthur time to respond, he leaves.

So Arthur does what he said. He thinks about it. He thinks about it a lot. He knows Yusuf's right: something has to be done, before the team falls apart.

"I'm sorry," he tries, the next time he sees Eames, but all Eames says is, "For what, Arthur?" and then turns away dismissively.

"I didn't mean to," Arthur says, and Eames turns back, a sad smile on his face.

"I know," he says. "It's okay."

After that things work again, more or less. There's no more sniping between Arthur and Eames, no more anger poisoning the team dynamics. They work together as consummate professionals. They are successful. They get jobs done.

Arthur is miserable.

\-----

Arthur practices it in his head, while they're flying to their next job, Eames sleeping in the seat in front of him. Then he gets out his notebook and a pen. "I'm sorry," he writes. "I love being with you, I love it when you touch me. I flinched because I was overthinking things, feeling guilty that I wasn't showing you the same affection you showed me, feeling you deserved better. I love you. Please forgive me."

Then he savagely scratches out the lines, rips the page out of the notebook and crumples it into a ball, then smooths it out and tears it into tiny little shreds that he collects in one of the complimentary barf bags.

He throws it in the garbage when he exits the plane, and doesn't look back.

Arthur and Eames share a hotel room again. It became a habit back when they were still touching, and even in the worst of their fighting the habit never broke.

They do not speak while they go through the routine of getting ready for bed. They never do, these days. Arthur sets his cellphone alarm, like always, and Eames turns out the light without needing to ask if Arthur's ready.

Arthur wakes before the alarm, and blinks sleepily in the dark room. There's something subtly off about the shadows, he thinks, and stiffens, his brain coming online in a burst of adrenaline. Have they been ratted out?

Trying to disguise the fact that he's awake, Arthur lets only his eyes move as he searches the room for what's out of place.

It's -- _oh_. He sighs in relief. It's only Eames, standing by the window, curtain pulled back just enough to let him look out over the sparkling city lights.

"Can't sleep?" he says, then curses mentally. He hadn't intended to say anything. He and Eames don't make small talk anymore.

"Yeah," Eames says distantly, after a moment. "Jetlag's a pain."

"Don't I know it," says Arthur. They all know it. It's a fact of their life. They both sigh.

Somehow, here in the darkness, unable to see Eames' face, it's easier to talk. "I really am sorry," Arthur says. "I didn't -- I _like_ you. It was good."

Eames turns away from the window to face Arthur, but in the dark his expression is unreadable. "It was," he says softly. "I loved you."

Arthur's chest twists. "Loved?" he says, the word springing out entirely involuntarily.

"Love," Eames says, even more softly. And then, firmly, "Go back to sleep."

Arthur doesn't mean to, but somehow he does anyways, and in the morning he's not quite sure if he dreamed the conversation, or maybe created it wholesale in his head out of wishful thinking.

When the job is over, Arthur is glad to go home.

\-----

Arthur tries to get over his obsession with Eames. He goes out for lunches with Ariadne, gets to know her quick mind and attention for detail in non job-related circumstances. They find mutual interest in discussing terrible, and terribly addictive, sci-fi TV. He plays pool with Yusuf and gets righteously beaten every time, bonding over bad beer and worse jokes. He tries the lunch thing with Saito too, and after a series of perfectly civil and perfectly boring meals, finds himself passionately debating the historical significance and role of warfare with Saito. After that, their lunches are always exhilarating.

It helps, a little, to remember that the rest of his teammates are his friends too, but it doesn't keep him from dwelling on the subject of Eames. Does Eames still love him? Is there still a chance for them? If Arthur could just say something, do something, then maybe he could find out.

But how can he, if he couldn't manage it even when they were together and happy?

He knows it's the only way. If he doesn't say anything they will continue like this indefinitely, distant business associates and nothing more, without even the casual friendship they had before the whole thing started. And Arthur can't bear that thought.

\-----

For their next job, Eames is flying to Berlin a week ahead of the others, to get more personally acquainted with a man he'll need to forge. This job will be tough; the mark is a clever one, and trained, and Eames will need to be as exact as possible.

Arthur drives him to the airport, and tries not to hyperventilate. This is it. He is going to _do something_.

"Have fun," he says, as he helps pull Eames' luggage from the back of the car, and Eames says, "Don't I always?"

Then as Eames leans into the car to pick up his coat, Arthur takes a determined step forwards, and makes himself take a deep breath. Eames straightens, coat slung over his shoulder, and glances at him. "Time for me to head off, then," he says.

But before Eames can grab his suitcase and walk away towards the terminal, Arthur takes a last step forward, heart pounding so hard it feels like his ribs should be shattering under the force. And then, instincts screaming that he should be panicking and running far away, he puts his arms around Eames and pulls him in close for a hug.

Eames stiffens beneath his grasp. Arthur can't say a word, can't move, can't breathe.

Then in a sudden rush Eames relaxes and lets out a breath of air, and his arms are moving to hug Arthur back. "Oh, _darling_ ," he says, in a shaking voice.

"I miss you," Arthur mumbles into Eames' shoulder, and Eames just says, breathlessly, "Then come with me."

Arthur does.


End file.
